Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“ K nock, knock.”
Who’s there , I feel like asking, and smile at the cliché, the motion sending a throb of pain through my head. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or how I got here. The sheets are too thick and soft compared to the kind of sheets I’m used to which have seen the inside of a tumble-drier a few times too many. The chirping of birds echoes from somewhere outside. Back home all I ever got to hear upon waking was either the blaring sound of a police siren or the upstairs neighbors struggling hard not to kill each other. (In their defense, they have been married for ten years, which in wedlock years probably translates to something like an eternity. The way I see it, marriage is the best preparation if you ever find yourself in the position of wanting to try your hand at a career in politics. Not only will you excel at facing daily opposition, you’ll also be used to no one ever being interested in what you have to say.)
“Hey!” the voice calls out again. “Are you up?”
I realize the voice calling out to me is male and a bit angry. He sounds nothing like the relaxing chirping sounds coming from outside the window. If only he would just shut up so I can get back to sleep and cure the pounding sensation inside my skull.
I groan and turn. As I kick the sheets aside, I glimpse the tall figure blocking the doorway and my heart stops for a moment.
That’s when my brain finally starts working again and realization kicks in.
Someone’s broken in!
I need to call 911.
I frantically scan the bedside table for my phone. I usually leave it there to charge overnight. It’s not there. Instead, the back of my hand connects with something hard. One of those old-fashioned lamps that weigh a ton. A brief pang of pain shoots up my arm, and I let out a yelp.
Everything’s wrong, from the furniture to the size of the bedroom and the way the light falls in. My brain finally puts two and two together. I’m in a foreign country, jet-lagged out of my freaking mind, and have just spent the night in some stranger’s barn, albeit the luxurious kind.
I blink against the sun seeping through the crack in the drawn curtains.
Ireland.
Yes, that’s the country.
Barely twenty-four hours ago, I was in NYC, hauling my meager belongings, or what’s left of them, into a taxi that would take me to the airport. All based on a personal letter and a thick envelope from a prestigious law firm that was professional enough to call me into their office, offer me a cup of coffee and grant me two minutes of their overpriced time to explain the meaning of it all.
The only person who knows where I am or why I’m here is my best friend, Mia. The fact that she’s doing a yearlong internship somewhere in England and could pop over any time filled me with the necessary courage to pack my bags and take the plunge into uncharted waters. I can’t help but question the sanity of that decision given that I’m in the middle of nowhere and London seems like light years away.
Someone is standing in the doorway, my brain reminds me.
Focus, Lori, focus.
It must be the stranger from last night. The big, rude one, who wasn’t a fan of introductions or exchanging pleasantries, or words in general.
I blink against the sun spilling in through the doorway, casting shadows across the walls. My vision slowly adjusts as I take in my visitor and my breath catches in my throat.
Holy shit, he’s freaking hot!
He’s tall, dressed in jeans and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves that reveal strong, tanned arms. His body looks like it’s carved out of stone and belongs on the front cover of any fitness magazine. His dark hair is a wet, disheveled mop, like he couldn’t find a brush after his morning shower and just ran his fingers through it. I stare at him, taking in the raw masculinity emanating from him, and decide I wouldn’t mind entangling my fingers in his hair as I draw him to me in a slow, steamy kiss.
“Want me to take a picture for you?” the guy says. His voice is deep and husky with the same accent I remember him having. Combine his rude tone with the darkness, and it’s no wonder he actually made me fear for my life last night. In the broad daylight, however, he doesn’t seem to pose any imminent threat. In fact, he sounds sexy as hell.
I sit up as I mentally prepare myself for a big comeback.
Bring out the big guns and all that.
Only, the big guns? aka my brain, have deserted me.
“Well?” He steps closer and his brows shoot up. His eyes are a shade of dark-blue and gray, piercing through me with a coldness that renders me speechless for a moment. He may be sexy as fuck but his dislike of me is so evident it’s pouring out of him in long, cascading waves. He definitely seems to have a personal problem with me when he doesn’t even know me.
That’s fine! I don’t like him either, and I wouldn’t bed him if the entire population depended on it.
“A picture? Of what? You? Please!” I ask as my brain finally decides to join in the conversation. “What for? It’s not like there’s anything to see. Nothing special about the view.”
I snort for good measure because my voice sounds a little too breathy for my liking, which I attribute to the long flight and the air being a little chilly.
“Didn’t seem like it when you’ve just been staring at me for the last five minutes.” The guy regards me for a long moment, eyes raking over me and settling on my legs for a moment too long. I follow his line of vision and realize I’m only wearing my panties and bra. At some point during the night, I must have stripped off my clothes. Now I’m completely exposed to his gaze, and he doesn’t seem to own a hint of good manners nor the decency to look away. He’s staring at my half-naked body like a starved man would observe a piece of cake—the chocolate kind.
Heat rushes to my face and something like a tingle settles somewhere between my legs, reminding me that there hasn’t been a man who’s looked at me like that in, well…ever.
“Can you turn around, please? Or did you leave your manners at home to sleep in this morning?” I wrap a sheet around me and once he’s turned his back on me, I get out of the bed, immediately regretting the sudden movement. The room begins to spin and I find myself clutching at the wooden frame at the foot of the bed, closing my eyes as I wait for the dizzy spell to pass.
My low blood sugar reminds me that I skipped dinner.
Luckily, the guy’s still turned away and he hasn’t noticed, or he’d probably insist that I get it checked out at the nearest hospital just to get rid of me.
“Morning? Is this morning to you?” He spins around to regard me, and points at the window like I’m supposed to know how to read the time of day from the number of sunrays seeping in through the gap in the curtains. “It’s almost noon. Around here, we have breakfast preferably before the sun comes up. Anything after seven, and you’re bound to earn some raised eyebrows and turn into the locals’ hot gossip for the day. I saved you some coffee and leftover toast. You’ll find it in the kitchen. Make it quick before I feed it to the pigeons.” He turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Welcome to the Walsh estate. Have a pleasant stay. Or not. I don’t care either way.”
No “Did you sleep well?” No “You must be jet-lagged out of your mind. Can I get you some Advil?”
“Coffee and leftover toast. That’s some nice Continental breakfast if I ever saw one. Please don’t roll out the red carpet on my behalf,” I mumble, repeating his sarcastic phrase from last night. But he doesn’t hear me because he’s already out the door, slamming it behind him.
Sighing, I sink back down on the bed and peer at my cell phone. Noon, my butt. It’s barely ten a.m. Who is this guy? I should have demanded that he introduce himself and his part in all of this. Last night, I figured he was a mere driver, some anonymous person living in the grand village of my-brain’s-too-jetlagged-to-recall-the-name. Now I realize he’s an employee of the grounds, which most certainly explains his brisk manner and the way he seems to order me around. He’s either not a fan of strangers or he’s loyal to the late Ms. Walsh and is sulking at the prospect of having a new employer.
Either way, he’ll warm up to me eventually. Probably right after Christmas, when he sees his bonus, because I intend to get a job and be a very generous employer for as long as I’m the owner of the estate. After that, we’ll be out of each other’s hair forever and he can be rude to someone else.
The bathroom is dreamy, all white tiles and sparkling marble counters. I go through my usual morning routine, taking a shower that turns into a longer affair than necessary, letting the hot water caress my aching body, then change into the first pair of jeans and top I can grab from my still unpacked suitcase. I take my time applying minimalist makeup, but instead of joining the rude guy in the kitchen, wherever that is, I decide to keep him waiting and venture outside to familiarize myself with my new home, even if it’s only a temporary one.
As soon as I open the door, a cold breeze hits me, making me wrap my jacket tighter around me. It is a thin thing, not really meant to stave off the cold Irish wind, but I didn’t think to bring anything warmer with me. I head out the back of what I thought was a barn, realizing this isn’t a barn at all, more like a cottage or a small guesthouse. As I proceed down the gravel path toward the hills in the distance, I make a mental note to visit the local shops and find something more suitable to wear.
The air is clean and sharp, pregnant with the fragrant scent of everything nature has to offer.
And there’s plenty of that.
There is so much to take in, I don’t know where to look. In spite of the weather, everything is green and in full bloom. The thicket is overgrown and speckled with tiny white flowers. The lawn is immaculately trimmed and wrapped in morning dew that glitters in the bright light like a diamond with a million facets. I take in a deep breath and spin in a slow circle, only now catching a good glimpse of the house adjacent to what the guy called the barn last night.
It’s a magnificent three-story affair and reminds me a bit of one of those celebrity residences you see on TV with way too much space and no idea what to do with it. It’s all white turrets and gleaming windows that probably offer stunning views of the hills stretching in the distance. I haven’t seen the inside yet but suddenly that’s all I want to do.
I round the cottage and head back down the gravel path in search of the entrance to the main house. The old truck from last night is still parked in the driveway and looks completely out of place. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a logo on it advertising Jack-of-all-trades and a local phone number.
Judging from the trimmed lawn and hedges, and the way he seems to keep hovering around the place, I conclude he must be the gardener.
I climb the broad stairs and stop in front of the door, wondering whether to ring the bell or just let myself in.
Given that the house is mine now, I decide there is no need to announce myself to myself. The sooner the guy realizes I’m the one who’s going to be paying for his beer at the local pub from now on, the better for the both of us. That is, if I’ll keep him in my employ.
Before my newfound courage deserts me, I try the door. To my surprise, it’s unlocked.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice reverberating off the walls, as I take a few tentative steps in.
The place is absolutely breathtaking.
The foyer is one open space with an impressive crystal chandelier and polished marble floors. Beneath my feet is a rug that swallows the sound of my footsteps as I step on it and close the door behind me. My gaze is immediately drawn to the swooping staircase leading to the upper floors, but I won’t venture up there yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as the inevitable thought crosses my mind.
Sell the place.
Even though this house isn’t home by a long shot, it feels strange that the thought hurts a little. If it could talk, it would probably tell me that anyone would be so lucky to live here. But I need the money to sort out the life I have back home. Yes, it’s in shambles right now, but it’s the life I chose for myself. I have important business to get back to. I can’t get attached and build castles in the air, no matter how stunning the place is. Even though it would be tempting to imagine myself waking up in the morning to the sun shining through the large bay windows, I won’t allow my feelings to get involved.
This is strictly business.
I open one door after another, barely peering in before I move to the next because there’s so much to see. The kitchen is country style with white cabinets and an island. Everything’s neatly tucked away and polished to perfection, like no one’s ever even made a fried egg in here. Then there’s a conservatory filled to the brim with plants that look well-cared-for. There’s a living room a couple times the size of my matchbox apartment in NYC. Several sofas are strategically placed to offer a perfect view of both the oversized open fireplace and the landscaped garden outside.
Everything is clean and orderly. If it weren’t for the countless photos adorning the mantelpiece I’d doubt anyone ever lived here. I decide to look at them later once I’m done with my brief tour of the house.
Everything’s so bright and beautiful I can barely contain my squeal of joy and almost bump into the guy from last night.
“Sorry, I—” I reach for the doorway to steady myself before I tumble into him, but somehow miss it, and slam against his hard chest. His arm wraps around my waist to steady me, knocking all the air out of my lungs as he holds me against him.
Not that I could breathe anyway.
We’re so close, for a moment I forget where I am.
He isn’t just sexy; he’s out of this world and then some. A statue of a man, at least a head taller than me with hard muscles beneath his white shirt and jeans. I want nothing else but to rip off his clothes and check whether he looks as good as he feels. He even smells good, of shower gel and fresh air, like he’s already been out on a morning jog and the scent’s still lingering on his skin.
Or maybe that’s the way he always smells.
I inhale deeply, unable to help myself, and realize his scent is intoxicating. Whatever’s in that shower gel, it should come with a warning because it makes me all dizzy and unable to form a clear thought. Or maybe it’s the way he’s holding me, all strong and possessive, the heat of his hands burning through my thin clothes.
There’s something about him that triggers a memory, and it’s not our rather unfortunate encounter from this morning. There’s something remarkably familiar about him. I think I’ve seen his face before.
But where?
I raise my gaze to study his features and realize he’s staring at me, though our thoughts are probably going in very different directions.
In his eyes—the color of overcast skies—a storm is brewing.
I’ve no idea what I’ve done to cause so much dislike in him but it sure emanates from his every pore. He really seems to have an aversion to strangers. In spite of his Adonis-looks, he’s probably just some village guy who’s known the same people since birth and doesn’t warm to new people easily. He probably senses my city-girl flair and has labeled me as high maintenance.
That is so not me!
“Hi. We haven’t really been introduced properly,” I manage to squeeze through compressed lungs and cringe at how girlish I sound when I was actually going for mature with a hint of sultry.
“You’re trespassing,” the guy says, brows drawn.
I’m realizing the sultry part isn’t me either. In fact, judging from his deepening dislike of me, I think I pretty much suck at it.
“Me trespassing?” I laugh. “I think you’re the one trespassing, given that this is my house. Besides, you mentioned breakfast, remember?” I place my hand against his hard chest, and push to put some much-needed distance between us. He doesn’t budge from the spot. His grip on me isn’t loosening, either, nor does his gaze shift from me. I catch something in his look, a dark shadow, maybe a hint of annoyance, as his jaw sets.
“You are?—”
I raise my chin a notch and look him straight in the eye. “Lori Crest. The new owner.”
He inclines his head and something like a smirk appears along the corner of his lips. “I was going for the thief who conned a poor, old woman out of her possessions. But Lori works just fine.”
Just like that, he releases his grip on me and I tumble backward, only now realizing I had been holding on to him for support.
The guy heads for the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around, Lori.”
I stare at the empty space he’s just occupied, wondering what his problem is. Maybe the “new owner” part put him in his place and he realized he needs to get the hell out before I fire his hot ass. He’s probably working on the premises, has a house full of kids to feed, and can’t afford to lose his job. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. He’s probably scared I’ll sack him for being an ass to me the night before.
“Hey,” I yell, darting after him, eager to set the record straight. I catch up with him in the vast driveway as he’s about to jump into his pickup truck. He keeps his back turned to me for a few moments, as though he can’t decide whether to acknowledge or ignore me. Then he turns, and his stormy eyes settle on me. I’m struck speechless again, not just because, in the bright sunlight, they look like two deep, dark wells I could see myself drowning in. It’s also because of how his gaze brushes over me again, settling for a second too long on the snug top I’m wearing beneath my jacket. It was the first thing I pulled out of my suitcase, and probably not the wisest choice given that it leaves little to the imagination.
Our gazes finally meet, and his brow shoots up in question. There’s that call for battle from before, though I really don’t understand the hostility.
“What can I help you with, Lori Crest?”
“Miss Crest works just fine,” I state.
He smirks. “Lori, then.”
I want to put him in his place, tell him that as long as I’m the one filling out the paychecks, I’m also the one who calls the shots.
But I can’t.
There’s something about him I can’t quite place. Maybe it’s the air of arrogance, like he’s used to having his way, barking out orders and people just follow like puppets. Or maybe it’s the way he makes me feel, all cagey and defensive, like I owe him an explanation—or worse—an apology.
“You were about to say something?” he prompts, the smirk on his face turning into a grin. The guy knows he’s gorgeous. He knows the effect he has on women, and he probably takes full advantage of it.
Skirts might be lining up for this one, but I’m not going to be one of them. I’m not going to turn into a notch on his bedpost or a name in his little black book or however he keeps track of his conquests.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Your services are no longer needed.” My breath catches in my throat as my words sink in.
Oh, my goodness!
Did I just sack him? Did I just sack the first person in my life? This isn’t me. I don’t do stuff like that. I don’t even think about doing stuff like that. I feel so bad I want to tell him it’s all a mistake but I can’t bring myself to say another word. His gaze has me glued to the spot, rendered speechless.
I’ve officially lost my brain.
“Did you just—” He inclines his head as he seems to ponder over my words. And then he throws his head back and laughs. I stare at him, unsure what’s happening. “You think I’m—” He laughs again. I think I see a tear gathering in the corner of his stunning eye.
He’s definitely laughing at me.
What the heck?
“You think you can—” He clears his throat, the laughter dying down. His eyes begin to glitter with challenge. “You couldn’t afford me or my services even if you wanted to, love.”
With that, he circles his truck and jumps onto the driver’s seat. An instant later, he speeds down the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
Five minutes later, I still haven’t moved from the spot. I’m staring at the empty space he just occupied, wondering what the hell that was all about.